


My Weakness I Feel I Must Finally Show

by ronans



Series: Prompts [19]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 4x08, Angst, Kissing, M/M, Sex, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronans/pseuds/ronans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Prompt:</strong> Angsty make up sex the night Mickey slept over in season 4 - <a href="http://southsidemilkovich.tumblr.com/post/111829615204/umm-hi-i-think-youre-writing-is-kind-of-amazing">Anon</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	My Weakness I Feel I Must Finally Show

**Author's Note:**

> I’m gonna pretend the blow job didn’t happen and they’re just making up for… Ian’s making up for leaving I guess, and Mickey’s making up for not being able to say how he feels yet. I don’t write smut frequently at all, so I hope this is okay!  
> Title: Awake My Soul - Mumford & Sons

The sound of the door shutting behind Lip, Debbie and Carl is deafening and seals the tension in the room, a vacuum of stifled emotion. Ian pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and gazes down at his notebook. Mickey stares at the top of Ian’s head, desperately trying to figure out how to get him to look back up.

‘You comin’ back?’ he finally murmurs.

Ian laughs under his breath and shakes his head slowly. ‘I dunno, Mickey.’

Mickey squeezes his eyes shut and breathes out a sigh, the only other noise in the room being the scratch of Ian’s pencil against paper as he starts writing again. ‘I didn’t go looking for you for fuckin’ nothing, Ian.’

‘Oh, so this is about my dick now, is it? You want a reward?’ Ian chuckles, and Mickey can barely see his grin his head’s bent over the notebook so far. Ian’s hollow voice shatters something inside him that he’d thought had already been broken.

‘N- Fuck, Ian, no. I fucking care, okay? I give a shit,’ he says, his voice burning as it travels up his throat. And that grabs his attention again. Suddenly Ian doesn’t look amused anymore. His eyes have a glaze of moisture that makes him look frantic and, for a split second, Mickey doesn’t recognise Ian.

Ian’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and looks away again. ‘Why? Why the fuck would you care?’

It’s like someone’s pulled the floor out from beneath Mickey’s feet because _how the fuck_ could Ian not understand?

‘What do you mean _why the fuck would I care_?’ He’s not quite ready to say I love you, but he needs to say something to keep Ian with him, to make sure he understands. ‘You think I’d- You think I’d…’ But… he can’t. His voice gets stuck and there’s disappointment in Ian’s eyes, but it’s like he expected it. Mickey looks away and fucking hell, the backs of his eyeballs are on fire with tears. He darts his tongue out to wet his chapped lips. He’s stealing some time to find some courage. ‘I didn’t want you to fucking _leave_.’ And somehow, Mickey’s not just referring to today. It goes so much further back than that and Ian knows it too.

‘I had to,’ he replies simply, but his lips are pursed like he’s holding back more. And Ian does that, he holds back, because maybe he’s been burned too many times. Mickey doesn’t even want to think about how much of that’s down to him.

But it boils down to _relationship issues_ and they’ll leave it at that.

Mickey gulps and stares at the ground, a sudden chorus of Gallagher laughter travelling up through the floorboards. It makes Mickey’s chest hurt a little bit, for both himself and for Ian. He never got that sense of family, and Ian’s just been taken out of the equation and their laughter still sounds genuine like a piece of themselves hadn’t been ripped apart and battered until he’s more carbon than diamond again.

When Mickey looks up, Ian’s staring at him. The eye contact is painful, but finally Ian surges forward and kisses Mickey like it’s the last time he’ll ever do so. Mickey knows it’s not; he’s fucking never letting Ian go again.

Ian’s arms wrapping around him feels like he’s clamping back together all the wrecked pieces of them, all the things they’d ruined between them. He’s fixing, he’s healing, his mouth’s hot and breathing life back into Mickey’s lungs, because Ian feels freer now, he looks so much better than the day before when he’d been passed out on Mickey’s bed, coming down from a synthetic high.

Mickey cups the back of Ian’s head and tries to grip onto the buzzed hair there. In return, Ian runs his hands down Mickey’s back and then back up again to grab at his face. As soon as Ian pulls away for breath, Mickey wraps his fingers around Ian’s wrist.

‘Thought this wasn’t about your dick?’ Mickey says, cursing the fact he’s lost his breath and can’t keep his fucking mouth shut.

Ian presses his lips together and scrunches his eyes closed, leaning his forehead against Mickey’s. ‘Mickey, shut the fuck up. I need you.’

It’s so much slower than the kissing, but Ian pulls off Mickey’s jumper and shirt and it feels good, like as his clothes are coming off, so are the bad feelings they share. This is what they’ve always been good at; this is what they can count on. And Mickey will fucking hope that this time more than ever his feelings seep through his hands and into his touch.

Ian captures Mickey’s mouth again and Mickey can feel Ian’s lips tremble and there’s a salty taste to his mouth like tears. He wants to make it better.

‘Ian, you sure about this?’ Mickey asks, because Ian’s not all there, he knows that.

‘Wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn't sure,’ Ian says into Mickey’s mouth, and his voice is certain and the tears start to dry up. Mickey opens his eyes and stares into Ian’s. They look dark in the low lighting of the room and his focus is blurred because they’re so close, but there’s nothing but trust there, nothing but a want for Mickey to prove himself.

Like Mickey’s delicate, Ian gently draws Mickey away from the chest of drawers they’d been leaning against and takes him over to the bed, yanking his own shirt off on the way. The mattress bounces as Mickey falls against it and Ian crawls up his body until their noses touch. Sharing each other’s air for a moment kills them because they’ve missed each other, they’ve missed this, and they’re sorry.

Mickey kicks off his jeans whilst still under Ian and Ian does the same, but it’s slower than usual, they’re taking their time and they’re _so fucking sorry_.

They’re way past caring about the host of Ian’s family just being downstairs, too wrapped up in each other and wanting every inch of their skin to touch. Ian seals his lips with Mickey’s and there’s a grimace where his smile should be. Mickey strokes his thumb against Ian’s cheek and Ian nods.

He slowly works Mickey open and it’s not long before Mickey’s sighing into Ian’s skin. His breath is harsh against Ian’s neck and he knows Ian can pick up on the rattle of anxiety.

‘Mick,’ Ian mutters and Mickey winces and shudders when Ian sinks his teeth into his shoulder. ‘Mick, I’m so fucking sorry.’

Mickey lets his head sink further into the pillow, gasping a little as Ian crooks his fingers. ‘Fuck.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Stop,’ Mickey murmurs, running one hand through Ian’s ruffled hair. He squirms as Ian pulls out his fingers after a little while longer.

Ian inhales deeply and then pushes up off Mickey’s body, resting on his forearms to hover over him. He purses his lips and then leans over to grab a condom from his bedside table. Mickey shuts his eyes and listens to the rustle of him opening it and bites his lip whilst he waits.

The warmth of Ian’s body as he leans in again coaxes Mickey to dig his fingernails into Ian’s flesh, coaxes Ian to move slower, coaxes the feeling of closeness to bloom. As Ian pushes into him, Mickey bites the inside of his cheek and rakes his nails up Ian’s back until he’s wrapping his arms around his shoulders, guiding Ian’s movements.

Their gasps mingle as Ian tilts his head to press his lips to Mickey’s again. Mickey can’t remember the last time they kissed this much during sex, can’t remember the last time he felt so whole, like something he’d been missing had finally come back. He’d found Ian days ago, but it’s only now that he feels he’s really found him. This is the slowest they’ve ever gone, but Mickey feels it’s right, it’s right for now because they need the time.

Ian speeds up a little as Mickey’s legs tighten around his hips and he finally hits the spot that makes Mickey light up. Mickey’s cock is trapped between their bodies and the friction of Ian’s movements drives him crazy.

‘ _Fuck_ , Ian.’

‘Call me Ian again,’ he croaks into the crook of Mickey’s neck. ‘Call me Ian again,’ he repeats, and he’s still sounding broken, he’s still searching for something in Mickey.

‘Ian,’ Mickey says, and he tries to put as much feeling into the three letters as possible. ‘ _Ian_.’

‘Fuck.’ Ian shakes his head, his sweat slicked hair rubbing against the side of Mickey’s face. He pulls back so he’s looking directly into Mickey’s eyes, speeding up again, his thrusts becoming stabs and Mickey can’t take it. He bares his neck for Ian, tipping his head back, mouth open.

He climaxes forcefully and is really fucking surprised at the intensity, fingers spasming around Ian’s forearms. He can feel Ian still moving above him, his rhythm stuttering as he grows ever closer to tipping over the edge while Mickey’s still trying to see past the blissed out haze over his vision.

‘ _Mickey_.’

His body twitches from the sensitivity and hears the thump of Ian’s forehead against his chest as he slumps against him. Mickey again runs his hands through Ian’s hair, matting the strands together.

The quiet, the sighs, the silence, the togetherness; Mickey feels it. He’s just so fucking glad that he can press his lips to Ian’s hair and he’s there. He’s real, he’s under his fingertips.

Ian closes his eyes and rolls so he’s no longer collapsed on top of Mickey. They stare at each other, side by side on Ian’s childhood bed, and Ian reaches out to brush Mickey’s hair out of his face.

The look Ian gives him as he pours out coffee for him the next morning is more than enough. They’ll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> [If you want to send me prompts, I'm on Tumblr :)](http://southsidemilkovich.tumblr.com)


End file.
